


Mischief Managed

by TallGingerUnicorn



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-17 18:11:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14194752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TallGingerUnicorn/pseuds/TallGingerUnicorn
Summary: A Marauders-era Hogwarts Legends of Tomorrow/Avalance AU. Just for fun, no set plot, but you can guarantee there'll be trouble. After all, it's Sara Lance ...





	1. Chapter One

“Miss Lance! Stop that immediately!”

Sara sighed and flicked her wand. The frog she was levitating over Gerald Appleby's head slowly returned to her desk. It croaked once as it landed, then proceeded to beat a hasty escape. With a barely perceptible twitch of her wrist Professor McGonagall transfigured the amphibian back into a fruit bowl.

“Detention, Miss Lance. My office tonight.”

“Yes, Professor,” Sara replied as the class giggled. Deep within the castle the bell for lunch sounded and the muffled laughter turned to the thump of books and bags.

“Homework!” McGonagall trilled, sweeping back to the head of the classroom. Chalk pieces floated to the blackboard and began to scrawl. “A foot of parchment on the properties of a Vanishing spell. To be handed in on Friday. No late submissions will be accepted,” the older witch added, peering over her glasses at Sara.

Sara rolled her eyes but said nothing, instead throwing her bag over her shoulder and joining the throng of students pouring into the corridor. Everyone was chattering happily with the prospect of a gorgeous fall day outside. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, melting the stubborn clumps of snow leftover from last week's blizzard. The courtyard outside was damp and lifeless but Sara was itching to get out of the castle.

“Hey, Mick!” she called to a broad-shouldered, muscular boy ahead of her. Built in the same mould as a refrigerator he parted a shoal of tittering first years like a bulldozer. Sara jog-trotted to catch up. “Mick, do you want to play hooky this afternoon? James Potter told me about another secret tunnel to Hogsmeade.”

Mick grunted. “Can't,” he replied. “Double Herbology.”

“They're trimming the Venomous Tentacula. There'll be so much swearing going on Sprout won't notice we're gone. Come on, I'm dying for a Firewhiskey.”

Mick grinned at the word 'fire', he was a notorious pyromaniac who had destroyed three priceless fifteenth century tapestries as a first year. He held the record for most consecutive detentions with Professor Slughorn (one hundred and eighty-six).

“Sorry, Sara,” he said. “Maybe Potter will take you.”

“Coward,” she chuckled. “And James won't be up for it. Lily Evans didn't call him a jerk last week and he thinks that means he's making progress with her. Plus ever since he became Head Boy he's been insufferably boring.”

“Black, then,” Mick shrugged as the two of them entered the Great Hall. The tables were already full of hungry students chatting animatedly. Mick and Sara beelined for the Slytherin table and sat down.

“Yeah, maybe,” Sara mused. She looked past Mick towards the Gryffindor table but couldn't see the roguishly handsome Sirius anywhere. “Damn,” she muttered, she was really not looking forward to spending all afternoon in the stuffy greenhouses.

Sara toyed with her chicken for a few minutes as she thought. Well, if she couldn't go to Hogsmeade maybe she'd get a headstart on that essay of McGonagall's before her detention tonight. That would free up the rest of her evening. Maybe some other exciting, illegal activity would become available once sleep blanketed the castle. Taking a last draw of pumpkin juice Sara abruptly stood up.

“Where 'oo gorn?” Mick mumbled around a mouthful of pasty.

“Library,” she replied, adopting his own direct manner of speech.

“Li-erry? Wha' for?” he frowned, spraying chunks across the bread basket.

Sara ignored his query and began to leave. “Catch you later, Mick,” she called over her shoulder, not paying attention to where she was going.

“Oof!” Sara grunted as she collided with a very tall something. She lost her balance. A hand shot out and caught her before she hit the floor but Sara's bag split open and scattered her books and parchment everywhere. A few nearby students laughed.

“I'm sorry!” the something cried, helping Sara regain her feet. Sara flipped her hair out of her face and turned, glowering, to face Ava Sharpe – a Hufflepuff prefect. “That was my bad, I should have watched where I was going,” Ava apologised.

_Yeah, you should have_ , Sara thought. But she bit back the retort when she noticed the concern in Ava's pretty blue eyes. “No, no that was my fault,” she said instead.

“Here, let me get your books!” Ava said.

“No, I've got it!” Sara replied.

They both ducked at the same time and collided again, this time cracking their heads together. Stars burst in front of Sara's vision as she rocked back and swore loudly.

“Language, Miss Lance!” came Professor Flitwick's squeaky reprimand as he passed by.

“Sorry, Professor,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

Ava was kneeling, sitting on her heels surrounded by the contents of Sara's bag, a grimace on her face as she cradled her head in her hands. Sara crouched down and put her hand on the tall girl's shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asked, leaning close. “Let me see.”

Ava permitted Sara to gently peel her hands away and tilt her head. An egg-shaped lump was already forming on Ava's forehead, the bruise would come later.

“I think you'll live,” Sara smiled and Ava laughed, then groaned.

“Merlin's beard, that hurts.”

Sara chuckled and retrieved her bag. “ _Reparo_ ,” she muttered and the tear in the bottom slowly stitched itself back to new. Too lazy to scuttle around the floor she used a few hasty summoning spells to collect the rest of her possessions until all that was left was a smashed bottle of ink.

Ava pointed her slender wand at the mess. “ _Evanesco_ ,” she said. The spilt contents and shards of glass vanished.

“Thanks,” Sara said. “Can I help you stand?”

Ava groaned again as Sara hauled her to her feet. “I think I need the Hospital Wing,” she mumbled.

“Come on, I'll take you,” Sara offered.

“No, I'm fine, thanks,” Ava said, waving her hand dismissively. “Really --”. She staggered a couple of steps and her knees buckled, forcing Sara to catch her.

“You're a terrible liar,” Sara teased. Ava laughed, then consented to let Sara duck under her arm. Slowly they shuffled across the entrance hall and up the marble staircase. Luckily the Hospital Wing was on the first floor.

“Aren't you the one who replaced all the bubble bath in the Prefect's bathroom with Bubotuber pus in Sixth Year?” Ava suddenly asked as they moved against the thinning crowd of stragglers still heading to lunch.

Sara grinned. “Yeah, that was me,” she replied. The Head of Slytherin House, Professor Slughorn, had thought it was a great joke but with Professor McGonagall's urging he'd given Sara detention for the rest of that term. After cleaning up the bathroom (by hand) she'd been forced to polish every suit of armor in the castle. Between her, Mick, and the Marauders, the castle custodian Argus Filch had little to do in the way of cleaning these days. Sara would bet her broomstick that McGonagall would have her scrubbing something later tonight.

“I had boils for weeks!” Ava said. “But at least it cleared up my acne.”

Sara couldn't help but laugh. “You're welcome,” she said, turning her head to see Ava smiling at her. Sara felt her stomach lurch and nearly missed a step. Thankfully they had reached the door of the Hospital Wing.

“What's happened here?” came a brusque voice. Madam Pomfrey swept up, all crisply starched in her white apron and nurse's cap.

“It was my fault,” Ava said quickly.

“I didn't ask whose fault it was, dear,” Pomfrey sniffed, directing them to the nearest bed. Sara levered Ava down onto the thin mattress.

“We had an … accident and Ava hit her head,” she explained.

“Sara hit her head, too,” Ava said, wincing as Madam Pomfrey began her examination of the rapidly swelling lump on her forehead.

“I'm fine,” Sara protested hastily. Too late. Pomfrey grabbed her head next and began poking and prodding.

“You _are_ fine,” the matron confirmed eventually, “you just have a small bruise. _You_ however,” she said, turning to Ava, “are not. You have a mild concussion and need observation tonight.”

“My mother always said I have a hard head,” Sara said, standing up. “Will you be alright here on your own?” she asked Ava.

“Yeah, I'll be fine,” she said as Madam Pomfrey swept back up the ward. A first year Gryffindor lay on a bed near her office, pustules covering his face. Sara thought she recognised Sirius' handiwork.

“I'll catch you later, then,” she said, shouldering her bag.

“Yeah, later,” Ava smiled warmly. Sara's heart skipped a little and she shifted awkwardly.

“Well … bye,” she added lamely, beating a hasty retreat. As the doors closed behind her she looked back and saw Ava still beaming at her, and Sara nearly walked into a suit of armor.

“Watch it!” barked a nearby painting of a balding duke.

“Sorry,” she said hastily, hurrying off to the library with her thoughts spinning.


	2. Chapter Two

Sara might have been forgiven for not making any headway with her essay after all that, but as she traipsed towards McGonagall's office that evening (her completely finished Vanishing spells essay safely drying back in the Slytherin girl's dormitory) Sara felt a sense of pride. Somehow thinking of Ava's smile had heightened her concentration, rather than destroying it, and her good mood had continued for the rest of the day. She knocked heartily on the thick oak door of McGonagall's office.

“Come in,” came the teacher's imperial tone

“Evening, Professor,” Sara said politely, pulling the door shut behind her. This was a time old routine – McGonagall gave Sara the most detentions of all the teachers.

“Good evening, Miss Lance,” the older witch said, peering at Sara over the thin glasses perched on her severe nose. “Please take a seat.”

Sara complied and looked around. There was nothing in sight that needed to be cleaned, perhaps she would be sent to polish the trophy cabinet again. McGonagall sighed and crossed her fingers in front of her, resting her hands on her ancient desk.

“Miss Lance, I wish to have a word with you,” she began, her voice weary. Sara's heart dropped. Oh crap. Had all her years of pranking finally caught up with her? Was she about to be expelled for levitating a _frog_? Even after bewitching a squirrel to chase terrified first years around the lake?

McGonagall changed tack abruptly and reached into a desk drawer, pulling out a rattling tin and removing the lid. “Sherbert lemon?”

“Uhm, no thanks,” Sara said, swallowing dryly.

McGonagall replaced the lid, and the tin, then adopted her initial pose once more. “Miss Lance, before your O.W.Ls Professor Slughorn asked you what you wished to do after you left Hogwarts. Do you recall your answer?”

Sara thought back. Slughorn had dragged her out of Care of Magical Creatures (a class she actually enjoyed) and without even looking up from the stack of papers he was grading, asked her whether she was staying on for N.E.W.T level. Sara had shrugged in reply, and Slughorn had suggested that perhaps her talents lied outside the castle walls, and that he didn't expect her to continue on as a N.E.W.T student. Then he dismissed her.

Incensed, Sara had studied intently for weeks and aced all her O.W.Ls except Potions, which she deliberately failed by scrawling a rude message to Professor Slughorn at the top of her parchment. Fortunately for her, Slughorn had been amused by her spite and allowed her to continue on in his classes. She was currently the second best student in his Seventh Year classes, ranked only behind the darling Miss Lily Evans whom Slughorn adored.

“I didn't have an answer back then, Professor,” she answered honestly. “I still don't.”

“And why is that, Miss Lance?” McGonagall asked. “You are a gifted student when you put your mind to it.”

The compliment sat uncomfortably with Sara, and she shifted in her chair. “I don't know, Professor. I've never felt like I belonged anywhere before.”

McGonagall's thoughtful gaze pierced straight through Sara, adding to her discomfort. “Miss Lance, Sara … do you know why I have always been so hard on you?”

“Hard on me?”

“Surely you're tired of our nightly ritual by now?” McGonagall smiled, arching an eyebrow. Despite herself Sara chuckled.

“I just assumed you enjoyed my company, Professor.”

McGonagall's lips twitched and Sara grinned.

“I'm hard on you, Sara, because I believe in you. You are incredibly talented when you're not terrorising your fellow students. I hope you realise that.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Dismissed.”

Sara stared. “Professor?”

“Dis-missed,” McGonagall stressed. “And don't let me catch you abusing a levitation spell again.” She unfolded her hands and picked up a sheaf of parchment from her desk.

“Yes, Professor.” Sara turned and headed for the door.

“Miss Lance?”

Sara paused, hand on the wrought iron latch. She looked back over her shoulder to see McGonagall smiling warmly.

“Make each moment count.”

“Yes, Professor,” Sara replied.

“Goodnight, Sara.”

“Goodnight, Professor.”


End file.
